Voices in the Snow (Black Winter, #1)

by Darcy Coates

And as long as she was trapped in the house, she was wholly reliant on the stranger. For food, for water, for everything. She had to take a

chance and trust him. With the storm as bad as it was, she didn’t have much of a choice.

The house, despite being caked in opulence, felt hostile, as though she were unworthy of staying in it. As if it barely tolerated her. The judgement seeped out of the walls and rose through the floorboards. It bled resentment.

The storm may still clear, and the temperature may rise within a day or two. But we cannot rely on it. Lives are lost when people take good fortune for granted.”

How methodical he made every motion. It seemed as though all of the life had been crushed out of him somehow.

She couldn’t see Dorran. But she could hear a scratching noise. It came from above her and below her all at once, like fingernails on stone or dying breaths dragged through rotting lungs.

The figure turned towards her. Eyes glinted—horrible, inhuman eyes peering out from behind long, greasy hair. Then the figure darted away, escaping from her circle of light, disappearing into a narrow doorway in the stone wall.

“I have never cared about anything as much as this,” Dorran finally whispered. Clare frowned lightly. “What do you mean?” Survival? Defending the house? Is he talking about the garden or— His eyes met hers for a brief second then glanced away again. “You.”

And he was kind, not in the way that expected anything in return and not that he was even trying to be kind. He just was.

She was falling, losing herself in him, drowning but no longer afraid.